


your hand upon my neck, your fingers on my skin, this heartbeat, this breath

by janie_tangerine



Category: Bastille Day (2016)
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Movie(s), Rough Sex, really don't ask for srs stuff it's just porn, that's it that's the thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “I might be obvious,” Michael says, “but maybe not so much, if you don’t realize how long I’ve been thinking about it.”“Really,” Briar says, putting the box on the nearest flat surface and taking the band from it, “then how about you tell me?”“That’d be – maybe I thought about it since before you told me I’d get a job washing cars for your agency?”Christ, Briar thinks, you’ll be the death of me sometimes if you keep on dropping these bombs like they’re nothing.“Right. So I suppose you thought about how you’d want it?” He figures that while he’s not going to treat the next few minutes as some kind of ceremony or whatever because that’s not exactly how they’re approaching the act, he should be as chivalrous as it goes for him, at least this once. After, they’re doing it this once. He doesn’t really want to fuck it up, especially when apparently everyone who came before him somehow managed to fuck things up for Michael somehow, and if for some reason he’s managed not to (himself being the most surprised person about it, honestly), then he wants to keep on not fucking things up any further, thank you very much.





	your hand upon my neck, your fingers on my skin, this heartbeat, this breath

**Author's Note:**

> Or: I KNOW I have in theory more pressing obligations but the last five days have been a feast of translating/proofreading/studying/mORE PROOFREADING and I needed to check out and I decided writing some healthy pseudo-porn was a good option (also I'm doing a thing in the italian side of fandom where you're in teams and who writes more fic for X theme wins and it fit perfectly for one of those themes SO) and these two are basically my to-go for easy porn straight to the point so here you go. YOU CAN GUESS WHERE THIS IS GOING FROM THE TAGS. I warned you. It's basically porn and fluff don't expect plot. Thanks <3 (actually it's porn from 2/3rds forward but be patient with me guys)
> 
> Also: I own nothing especially the characters or we'd be at sequel number three and I'd have given it better advertising, the title is from Springsteen as usual and here you go have some porn.

Briar almost walks past the shop, when he sees it.

 _Almost_ , as in, he sees it with the corner of his eye, and given that if his job brings perks one of them is _always_ noticing things, he stops in the middle of the road and walks back to give it a check.

It’s the window of some kind of ethnic jewelry shop – not _high class_ , as in, nothing in the window costs more than forty euros, but it’s not low quality either, nor tacky. He glances at the door – it advertises hand-made leather pieces of clothing, bags and whatnot on top of all the rest, and from what he sees glancing inside, the owner actually hand-makes their items themselves: there’s what looks like a sewing laboratory in the back.

His eyes fall back on the seemingly innocuous item displayed in the window.

His first thought is, _don’t be stupid, it’s really not what you should go for, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it, and one thing is what happens behind closed doors and another is what he’d really like._

That, though, is usually the rational and sensible part of himself that he rarely listens to, these days, especially when a certain someone’s concerned, and the not-so-rational and not-so-sensible part (which he hadn’t known he had until recently, but apparently he _does_ have it) is saying that given what they do _behind closed doors_ and the hints Michael thinks he’s dropping casually but are most definitely _not_ (Briar doesn’t know if he’s even aware he’s not being casual but rather, frankly obvious), Michael would be into that.

He’d be _very much_ into that.

And if he _wouldn’t even know what to do with it_ , well, it’s been more than a year and Briar’s fairly sure _neither_ of them had a clue of what they were doing in the beginning and now they have _some_ , but figuring shit out as they went along was pretty much their modus operandi and it hasn’t actually changed. Thing is, if he actually went for it, it’d have _implications_ , but then again, he thinks, he’s never been with anyone for that long, Michael certainly hasn’t, and at worst Michael says he’s not interested _but_ gets a hint that Briar’s not going to eventually get tired of him and fuck off.

(Which is a thing Briar had thought they had gotten over, but then Tom came to him a month ago or so and said that he and Michael had _drinks_ together and Michael _did_ get drunk enough to spill a few pieces of embarrassing information and _please Briar don’t ever leave that kid high and dry because you’d fuck him up and turn him into some kind of supervillain if he even has it in him_ , so he obviously _hasn’t_ gotten over it.)

All in all, he’s not losing anything by spending… thirty euros on the thing.

What the hell, he decides, why not. At worst, he’s supported an independent business and at best –

 _At best_ , both of them would gain from making use of the garment in question, wouldn’t they? He shakes his head, banishing from his head a few pictures that would most probably not look out of place in a few choice _good_ porn movies, and walks inside the shop. So he’s buying the thing. And he’ll probably have it gift-wrapped just because – he might be crap at normal relationships but he can get as far as _that_ , fuck’s sake.

He buys it. The young girl owning the shop puts it in a nice box and turns it into a lovely gift package, all things considered.

A lovely, innocuous-looking gift package.

Briar carefully takes the bag from her, pays for it, goes to work, walks into his office and locks it in his desk’s third drawer before anyone else can see it, and then grabs the first folder on the pile that definitely was _not_ there yesterday –

“Briar, I need you for a moment,” Tom says, walking inside the room without even knocking.

“What – can you even knock or what?”

“You lost any right to that a long time ago. So, you coming or not? It’s about your guy’s employment status.”

“He’s not –”

“Briar, it’s _the two of us_. This office is empty. I’ve known you’re fucking for a hell of a long time. Since that time I went with him for drinks I’ve known more than I actually wanted to about your arrangement. You can say that and no one’s going to fire you for being in a relationship on the job, since _I_ am doing the paperwork. So, _are you_?”

Briar figures he’s lost this one. He stands up and follows Tom into his office.

\--

He walks out of the office barely restraining the hint of a grin, but he kind of can’t help himself.

He’s _not_ going to tell Tom that he just made his job a lot easier here, and he’ll most probably _never_ tell him the circumstances in which he’ll give Michael the news, lest Tom _really_ does fire him or stops lying in his paperwork about the fact that they don’t just have a _good working relationship_. He can be nice, damn it, and too bad if Tom will never give him credit for it.

\--

It’s probably a good thing that Michael’s been out on some kind of op they needed him for in Marseille but that apparently didn’t require Briar’s presence for the last couple days, because while he’s not in any way, shape or form going to make a huge deal out of this (he wouldn’t even know where to begin, admittedly), at least he’s not going to have to try and _hide_ it until Michael nags it out of him before the right time is due. He comes back home in the late afternoon to find it empty, still. He heats up some leftover Chinese food he had in the fridge, then contemplates the small box wrapped in dark red paper and a creamy white ribbon and considers putting it on the table –

No. Something tells him it wouldn’t work, and so he puts it back on the side and instead places the plain brown package that Tom handed him before – there’s a CIA seal on the opening and Michael’s name neatly printed on the side. Now _that_ would be better, he decides, and after doing it he settles on the couch and tries to read some – he almost never is home _this_ early, he might as well take advantage of it.

He does until the door opens sometime after ten PM – well, it _did_ take longer than Briar had figured.

“Shit,” Michael says, “you’re all a bunch of horrid Stakhanovites, and don’t even try to tell me you’re not, and I know you’re in the living room!”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Briar mutters, not bothering to hide that he’s not bothered at all that Michael interrupted him when he was ten pages from the ending of that damned brick. He stands up and heads for the entrance, where Michael is taking off his coat and shoes – at least he _did_ realize that Briar’s house is too nice to walk around in it with shoes you’ve had on for the entire damned day.

“And why would _we_ be a bunch of Stakhanovites?”

“Are you _serious_? The people in your Marseille office are insane. I’ve only slept on the train there and back and the food sucks. And one of them almost fucked up the entire thing because he wouldn’t let me drive.”

“Sorry, what?”

“His words, _didn’t trust me to drive_ , as if I don’t have a perfectly great license and I haven’t learned in _Vegas_ , so he didn’t give me the keys but both him and his colleague got themselves half-injured and if only he just did I’d have driven them out in a moment, instead I managed to find them on him just before that drug dealer decided to put fire to the damned van. Whatever.”

“… Sounds exciting,” Briar says, already wondering if he should call Marseille and subtly tell them that he’d like it if they kept his _work_ partner in one piece. Tom would probably back him up, since whether they both like it or not, Michael’s the only person who’s ever managed to stand through six months of being partnered with _him_ without quitting.

“Please, I’d rather take _your_ kind of exciting, at least you let me drive – wait, what’s _that_?” He asks, finally noticing the letter on the table.

“Tom said HQ sent it for you this morning.”

“And you didn’t check?”

“Why in ever-loving hell would I open _your_ mail?” Briar shrugs, not telling Michael that since Tom _told_ him anyway, there wouldn’t be no need of him actually doing it.

Michael huffs good-naturedly and tears the seal open. “Might as well find out. Hopefully it’s not a termination notice.”

“I doubt that,” Briar says, and Michael doesn’t probably hear him because he’s too busy gaping at the brand-new CIA official badge he’s holding in between his fingers.

“Holy shit –” He starts, then shakes his head. “Wait, that’s –”

“Yes, you passed trial period with flying marks, yes, the contract is at the office, no, I couldn’t bring it here or Tom would have had my head, yes, you’re supposed to go sign tomorrow but no, he saw no reason why you shouldn’t get the badge since he was sure you’d sign. Did I miss anything?”

“No,” Michael says, sounding as if he’s grasping for breath, “no, I guess you didn’t. Shit. _Shit_ , wow, I hadn’t – well, joke’s on him.”

“Joke’s on _who_?”

“Guy who wouldn’t let me drive. Before the entire mission started he might’ve been convinced I only was there because of my admittedly incredibly handsome face,” he smirks. “He said nothing after I busted their asses out of Dodge, but he also seemed to be sure that my trial period wouldn’t work out. You think I can send him a picture?” He sounds _giddy_ , bless him.

“Why not,” Briar shrugs. “That guy’s an asshole, anyway. Serves him well. That said, this is not a _termination notice_ , so I suppose you’re planning on signing?”

“Of course I am,” Michael says. “As if I’d turn down a CIA job after slaving this much to get it. By the way, that doesn’t change, uh –” He starts, his tone going slightly worried.

“Our arrangement? Nah. It doesn’t. Especially because as Tom’s so fond of reminding me, you’re the only person they can partner me with, or so it seems.” He keeps his tone neutral, even if Michael looks smug anyway. As if he wouldn’t.

“Anyway, speaking of arrangements,” Briar says, and finally takes the bag from a seat he had left it on, “I saw a thing. I thought you might like it.”

Then he throws it at Michael, who takes out of it the red-and-cream package, suddenly looking _very_ puzzled.

“You got me _something_.”

“I might have,” Briar shrugs. “’Course, if you _don’t_ like it, I can just bring it back. No obligations whatsoever.” Mostly he doesn’t want Michael to assume that he’s _demanding_ it or anything. Hell, he bought it because _Michael_ would be into it, according to _him_ , and he likes to think he can interpret a guy he’s been with (for better or worse) for this long, also given that being a good judge of character is kind of his damned job. And okay, then _he_ also would be plenty into that because he’s _indeed_ into what they already do, but still. Better that it’s clear.

“Now that sounds scary. Doesn’t look like a ring, though,” Michael says, _obviously_ trying to joke, but if Briar can read the intonation… he sounds a bit sad it’s not?

_Ah, all right then._

“No,” Briar says, “but I looked at it and thought it might be your thing.”

“Well, guess I should open it, then.”

He carefully undoes the ribbon, placing it on the table, and then starts working on the paper. “Wow,” he says, “this is kind of exciting.”

“How so?”

Michael stops unwrapping the thing for a moment to look back up at him.

“You think anyone’s given me _presents_ recently? Or in the last what, five years? Whatever it is, at least the bar’s pretty low to reach right now.”

Briar tries to not think that it’s sad, because it’s not like he can say anything better for himself, and waits for Michael to get the box free of the paper. Like this, it looks innocuous – plain brown paper with the logo of the shop on the cover, but it’s nothing telling.

Michael obviously reaches the same conclusion, because then he shrugs and opens it, and then he sees what’s inside, and his eyes suddenly seem even bigger than they already are, which is honestly a travesty, it shouldn’t be legal, but –

Not in a bad way.

He was holding the box with his right hand while he was opening the cover – now his left is trailing softly over the dark red leather neck band resting inside, and he’s looking down at it as if he can’t really believe he’s seeing it.

_But not in a bad way._

He puts it down on the table.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Michael asks, moving slightly closer.

“It’s what you want it to mean,” Briar shrugs. “It seemed to me like it was something you might’ve wanted.”

“And – and you’d be down with that?” He’s trying to sound neutral, but Briar _can_ hear a slight tremor in his voice, as if he can’t quite believe they’re actually having that conversation.

“I’m down with that,” Briar says, not bothering to sound any different than his usual. “I mean, why do you think Tom was so overjoyed you got that badge? I’m not splitting if you aren’t.”

“I – no, of course I’m not, but – oh. I mean, I didn’t _say_ anything.”

“You didn’t need to. You think I wouldn’t figure that out? Besides, you forgot to clear your internet history the same time you used _my_ laptop.”

At that, Michael’s cheeks turn a shade of red _way_ closer to his hair color than he most probably likes. “Fair. I might’ve been obvious.”

“So you _did_ want that?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I just didn’t really have a clue of how I’d even ask.”

“Good thing then that you didn’t need to, then.”

“Shit, yeah, I – just, I can’t believe it’s happening. Of course, you had to spring both on me at once, huh?”

“What’s the fun in _not_ doing it?”

Michael shakes his head, and it’s obvious that he’s really trying to keep himself from grinning openly, and of course _he might have been obvious_ , he’s an open book even when he actually deletes his browser history. Then again, don’t they match also because he is and Briar isn’t?

“’Course you’d say that. Never mind. No, you don’t have to take it back.”

“Great. Well, whenever you want to. No hurry if –”

“And what if I wanted to see how it goes _right now_?” Michael asks instead, moving closer to him and about thrusting the box in his hand.

“What – really?”

“I might be obvious,” Michael says, “but maybe not so much, if you don’t realize _how long_ I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Really,” Briar says, putting the box on the nearest flat surface and taking the band from it, “then how about you tell me?”

“That’d be – maybe I thought about it since before you told me I’d get a job washing cars for your agency?”

 _Christ_ , Briar thinks, _you’ll be the death of me sometimes if you keep on dropping these bombs like they’re nothing_.

“Right. So I suppose you thought about _how_ you’d want it?” He figures that while he’s not going to treat the next few minutes as some kind of ceremony or whatever because that’s not exactly how they’re approaching the act, he should be as chivalrous as it goes for _him_ , at least this once. After, they’re doing it this once. He doesn’t really want to fuck it up, especially when apparently _everyone who came before him_ somehow managed to fuck things up for Michael _somehow_ , and if for some reason he’s managed not to ( _himself_ being the most surprised person about it, honestly), then he wants to keep on _not_ fucking things up any further, thank you very much.

(He really, really hates the idea of fucking up what he cares about, especially when it takes him _a hell of a long time_ to care about something. Or someone. Or _a relationship he has with someone._ )

“Mh,” Michael hums as Briar’s hand finds his collarbone, “what if I did?”

“Then if I were you I would share,” he strongly, nicely suggests.

“Well,” he says, “you’re starting right.”

“You mean, you want me to do _this_ ,” Briar says, grasping tighter at the back of Michael’s neck.

“ _Fuck_ , yes. I mean. You’d start with that. By the way, that – I kind of thought it’d be like the one you picked. More or less.”

“Nice.” He grabs tighter. Michael bites down on his tongue in order not to moan out loud, most probably. “Then?”

“Then – we’d be on the sofa. I mean, you’d drag me there. Nicely.”

“So, like _this_?” Briar says, and suddenly _moves_ towards the sofa, keeping that hand behind Michael’s head but keeping his other arm behind his back and then dragging him forwards with a bit more strength until he’s sitting on the sofa and Michael’s straddling him, and when he looks back up at him he can see that his pupils got a bit wider and the blue of his eyes looks piercing, and given how flushed he is right now –

Shit. He needs to get himself together at least for _now_.

“Yeah,” Michael replies, taking a very shallow breath in. Briar can feel his pulse under his thumb, right in that delicate hollow of his neck.

“And _then_? Talk.”

“Then you’d – you’d put it on me. Slow.”

“How tight?”

“Enough to feel it but not _too_ much.”

“Right. So, like _this_?”

He moves up his free hand, which was holding the band, and slowly pulls the tip through the clasp – he takes his time counting three notches, figuring that it’d be about right, and appreciating how _good_ that shade of dark red looks against Michael’s pale skin, never mind that he’s wearing a v-neck white t-shirt, which leaves his entire neck and collarbone exposed, and –

Fuck, he thinks that his throat is going very dry, but never mind that. Not for now. He locks the clasp, moving his hand so that his thumb is resting just below the leather, and at _that_ a small moan leave Michael’s mouth while he grips at Briar’s shoulders just a bit harder.

“Anything else?” He asks, not even trying to keep the amused tone from his voice, his other hand moving to Michael’s side, grasping at his hip strong enough that he goes immediately still. “Or is that all?”

“You – you’d say what you’d like to do with me _now_ ,” Michael says, his tone suddenly dropping lower, and shit but Briar _can_ feel how hard he’s becoming, and from the way Michael’s erection is _obviously_ pressing against his crotch through his jeans, he can imagine he’s not the only one. “Then – then we’d do it.”

“No specific requests?” Briar asks, tugging at the collar.

“ _Fuck_ , no –” Michael wheezes. “I wouldn’t need that.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you’d know already.”

He says that so _naturally_ , Briar kind of wants to _tell_ him it shouldn’t be legal, but then again given Michael’s previous profession, it would be a very bad and wasted pun, and so he doesn’t.

“So I get to decide? _Nice_ ,” Briar goes on. “Then again, I suppose I _do_ know. So how about, we move to the bedroom and you ride me until I decide you’re done?”

The fact that he can feel how Michael’s throat moves at the suggestion just under his thumb, just _under that collar_ , is not doing anything to help restraining himself.

“Fuck, _yeah_ , but – if it’s because – check my back pocket.”

 _What_ – Briar reaches out, feeling for the back pocket of Michael’s jeans, and right, there’s something in there.

As in, he finds out when he fishes both items out of it, a condom and a monodose of Vaseline.

He raises an eyebrow.

Michael just smiles weakly. “Thought we’d celebrate that the op went well,” he slurs, and fuck but _all right_ , all right, maybe it’s better that they do it _now_.

“Hey,” Briar says, moving his hand to the back of Michael’s head and grabbing so that he focuses again – he can see that he’s kind of slipping already. “Fine, no living room. Two things still. What do you say if you need to stop?”

Michael _does_ roll his eyes a tiny bit at that.

“Britney,” he says, long-sufferingly. “I _know_ –”

“Just humor me. Good. And how do you _ask nicely_?”

He almost, _almost_ groans pitifully as Michael’s hips roll downwards and he completely lets his weight rest on him. Shit, this has no right to make him lose his cool so fast, he thinks, but –

“Please, _Sean_ , will you let me ride you until I can’t physically take it anymore?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he grins back, and then hooks two fingers around the collar and drags Michael’s head downwards and kisses him, _finally_ , and _shit_ , thing is, it’s always good, and the fact that it’s been this long and he always feels a thrill creep through his spine every damned time they kiss if he lets himself think about it should say all, but _now_ – now Michael’s being somehow _more_ relaxed than usual, and fuck knows if Briar wants to think about the implications right _now_ , and so he doesn’t and moves his hands downwards so that he can _at least_ get rid of their damned clothes, as much as he can manage when Michael’s kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do and their position is hardly _good_ for that.

Eventually, he _does_ have to get Michael to at least stand up enough to lose his jeans and for _him_ to lose his slacks, but then he’s back _on_ him, his legs around Briar’s thighs and his hands clutching at his back while he slips a finger inside, then two, and then when he thinks the way is slick enough and Michael’s more or less begging to get on it already he slips on the condom, uses the last of the Vaseline on his dick just to be extra sure he grabs at Michael’s hips and a moment later he’s sunk himself on him, at _once_ , the crazy asshole, and it must have hurt but _he doesn’t seem to care_ – then again, he _does_ like it a bit rough. That’d be within the usual.

Still, now that he’s wearing just that t-shirt _and_ the collar and he’s looking down at Briar with the face of someone who’s absolutely enjoying the hell out of this, so – fine. No Britneys have been uttered yet, right?

He hooks another finger under the collar, again.

“I think,” he says, “we can be refined about this later. _Whenever you like_ ,” he says, and then he moves his hand in between them, keeping the other on Michael’s neck, and then he _thrusts_ , and it says a lot of how in synch they are that Michael immediately gets the drifts and meets him perfectly, his hips canting downwards exactly at the right moment, and it he’s so hard that Briar’s fairly sure he’ll come without much effort on his part, but then he _doesn’t_ , and he can see that he’s somehow holding himself or trying to delay the inevitable, and –

“Any reason why you’re stalling?” He asks, his hand moving to the back of Michael’s head, grasping at the curls of his hair – he’s growing it a bit, of course within work parameters, and it’s just _nice_ to be able to run his hands through it.

“I want you to go first,” Michael replies, so quietly Briar can barely hear him but he _does_ , and fuck this noise – he kisses him again as he fucks him harder and Michael moans into his mouth without even trying to put a lid to it, and there’s a limit to how much a man can take, Briar thinks as he realizes that he can’t really delay anymore _himself_ and as Michael about sinks down on him one last time he can’t hold on any longer and he comes as he breaks the kiss and moves an arm around Michael’s waist, and as he rides out his own pleasure he puts his free hand back on Michael’s by now painfully hard erection and _strokes_ and at that point neither of them is holding back anymore. He keeps his arm where it is so that none of them falls off the sofa or anything as horribly embarrassing as _that_ , and by the time he’s stopped seeing stars and he’s not busy regaining his breath, Michael’s also winded down, some, because Briar can just _feel_ how his chest is thrumming with energy even if he’s about fallen over him and they’re both sticky and they’ll need to send the sofa’s cover to the dry cleaner’s sooner rather than later. He breathes in, taking in how _warm_ Michael’s feeling pressed up against him, and how he might be thrumming with energy but not _tension_ , and since the sofa’s cover needs to be washed anyway, he uses it to clean off his hand, at least the bare minimum, and then uses that hand to cup the side of Michael’s face and look at him properly just to make sure –

Well, making sure he was doing fine is apparently superfluous because no one with a functioning brain would think he _wasn’t_ , especially not when he turns his head ever so slightly and kisses Briar’s palm, and his stomach somehow somersaults at _that_ , and he’ll have to think about it, but for now –

For now he looks up at Michael’s face, at how his cheeks are flushing a healthy shade of pink, at how his mouth is curved in a small, pleased smile, at how he’s looking down at him with a look that people with better sense of poetry than Briar has would have no quibbles describing as adoring, no more no less, and they should probably talk about specifics later and they _will_

(and at that point Briar _will_ get it out of Michael in some way or another, and he _will_ tell him that he might be a reckless loner who doesn’t play well with others but he’s not stupid enough to _not_ keep whatever good things the universe throws at them, and what they have is, as much as he’d have hated admitting it a year ago, a very, _very_ good thing)

but for now, he just feels moderately sorry that he can’t take a picture of what he’s seeing.

Then again, he figures, it’s good that he’s always had a very good memory.

 

 

End.


End file.
